Fighting
by FlyingBoppers
Summary: A girl, half crazy, just wanting revenge. A group of boys, wondering how to fix it all. It's an odd sort of match, but she fits in for the first time in her life.
1. Love the Pain

_They won't find me. They can't find me now! I'm going to be away from them forever! Forever being free! I'll kill them first; I'll kill them before I do anything else. That _is_a funny__thought. I'm going to kill someone. I can't wait. I wonder what the blood will look like running down his body, running onto the floor, trying to escape the monster._

She stood as the wind whipped her hair around her face, and a steady drizzle attacked her relentlessly. It was awful, and she stood there, loving the feeling.

She loved how it hurt her, how it caused her discomfort. It made her brain clear and foggy at the same time, and she loved it.

The thin white skirt around her ankles pulled at her like a child tugging on his mother's arm, wanting her to keep moving. But she did not keep moving. She didn't want to keep moving.

The cold bit at her bare arms and face. The silk stockings around her feet felt odd against the misting rain. She was in 19th century New York City, and an infamous season was about to arrive: Winter.

She didn't know, of course, and she wouldn't care if she did know.

If only she saw how she looked that night, if only she knew….

A teenage girl with thin brown hair trapped in snarls that went just past her waist, hopelessly so. Her skin, pale as ivory, as though she hadn't felt the Sun's warmth in years. Her thin white dress and silk covered feet, not near enough to keep her warm on this night. And her eyes. Her eyes would've scared the toughest man on the streets. Her eyes proved how crazy she was. The ice blue seemed to shine silver with twisted glee and a demented mindset. It was like the last few years she had been haunted by a ghost that locked her in the closet.

Though no one could tell, no one was looking into the ally anyway, she was painfully thin beneath her dress, half starved. Which didn't help with the look of madness, the thinness of her face, how gaunt it looked.

But she couldn't see herself; she hadn't seen herself in years.

She didn't care that unconsciousness took her quickly. In fact, she fell to the ground with a smile.


	2. Mush

"Uh…guys?"

"Yeah Mush?" Jack Kelly looked up from the hard ground. He and his newsies were in layers today, the start of winter kind to no one. "Holy mother o' Jesus, whadidya do Mush?"

"I didn't do notin!" Mush protested. Then his voice grew softer. "Except,y'know, find dis goil."

All the newsies turned their attention to Mush, and his special parcel.

It was a girl, maybe 14. She looked like the human form of death. Her brown hair hadn't been washed or groomed in a long time. Her skin was too pale, and the thin dress and silk stockings she wore wouldn't keep anyone warm. Her lips were turning blue, the same lips that were turned up into a smile.

She was not sleeping. No. This girl had smiled while unconscious. And it appeared she'd been that way for a while.

"What do we do wid her?" A newsie asked.

"Nothin we can do," Jack said slowly. "Except try to warm her up."

"Should we go to the Lodging House?" Mush asked quietly.

"Yeah." Jack whispered. Then he said louder. "Yeah. The rest o' ya, the next edition comes out in 10 minutes. Go carry da banner."

Mush kept holding the girl while they walked the few blocks to the Lodging House. Jack offered to switch, but Mush denied it, claiming she was very light.

Kloppman was at his desk when the boys arrived. His eyes widened and the boys thought he was going to pass out.

"Who is this?" Kloppman asked hoarsely.

"Really, we don't know." Jack said.

Mush added hurriedly, "But she needs to warm up."

Kloppman nodded and instructed the boys to bring her into a bunk and wrap her in a blanket. He would watch over her until the boys got back.

Mush did this quickly, letting Jack go get his papers. He didn't want to leave her alone, but he needed the money. Regretfully, he turned his back and hoped she would wake up soon.

When Mush returned to the Lodging House, Jack was already there, along with Kid Blink. They were just talking lightly, now and then glancing at the girl in the bed, the girl who was still out cold, but her lips weren't blue anymore.

Mush walked over and grabbed her wrist. There was a pulse, barely any stronger than when he'd found her barely alive in an ally.

He sighed and laid down on his own bunk, the one right next to her. He didn't fall asleep, but just laid there, resting.

The girl's head was a frightening place.

She still wanted blood. She still wanted pain. She wasn't waking up, but she could think.

She remembered the voice of the boy that took her away from the ally and into this warm place. She felt both grateful and resentful feeling towards him. She wished she knew what he looked like.

She felt herself getting stronger, getting better. She wasn't so cold anymore, and she felt herself almost thawing. It didn't hurt, but it tingled.

She felt the smile fall of her face and she relaxed into whatever she was laying on.

Mush. The name of her 'savior' was Mush. His accomplice was Jack, who was currently talking to Blink. She felt oddly connected to them, somehow. She'd never really had a friend. She'd never really had a chance to have a friend.

Somewhere while she thought, the unconscious state that she could somehow think in turned into a sleep, where all her dreams were bizarre or nightmares.


	3. Change Yourself

The next morning the boys were waking up slowly. As usual. It took them a fair amount of time to get moving. Always.

Mush was looking at the girl, wondering once again who she was and why she was laying in an alleyway. He supposed he'd have to wait to find out.

Jack too thought about the girl. He just wanted to know if she had anywhere else to go.

Both boys tried to clear their heads as they went to buy their papers.

For the rest of the day, cries of 'Extra, Extra!' and many made-up story headlines littered the streets.

When the day was over, most of the boys went to Tibby's for a bite to eat. However, 3 went to go check on the girl.

Jack, Mush, and Kid Blink walked quickly to the Lodging House, where Kloppman was writing at his desk.

"Have you checked on her lately?" Jack asked.

"Just a few hours ago." Kloppman said offhandedly.

As the boys walked up the stairs, they heard the familiar sound of floorboards creaking. But not the stairs floorboards.

Once the reached the bunkroom, they saw immediately that the girl was not in bed. Oh no. Instead, she was walking about the room, straightening this and that.

"Hello Francis, William, James." She said casually, not looking at them.

The boys just stood there, watching openmouthed at this girl who so casually said names they'd never revealed. Except for Jack being Francis, of course.

She turned, noticing their confusion. "Aren't those your names?"

They nodded, still not saying anything.

"Good." She nodded triumphantly. Her voice was lightly accented, but the boys didn't recognize what accent it was.

"It's English." She said, just as casually as before. Again, the boys just looked at each other.

"What?" She asked, upset. "What is wrong?"

"How do ya know what we're thinkin'?" Blink asked at the same time that Jack asked, "How do ya know our names?"

"I just do." Again, as casual as can be. She turned back to making the beds.

"Why are ya cleanin?" Blink asked, confusion written all over his words.

"Why not?"

"I dunno…" Blink trailed off, having no real reason.

"What's ya name?" Mush asked, finally speaking.

"He called me Hazel. I don't like that name. My mother called me Caroline. I like that name a little."

"What should we call ya?" Jack asked, seeming to come out of his confused state.

"Whatever you want to, I suppose." She said, still making beds to perfection.

"Why'd he call ya Hazel when your eyes are…" Mush stopped himself, not wanting to get carried away describing her ice blue-silver eyes.

"I'm not sure. I don't like him, you know. I want to kill him. And I will." The boys' eyes widened.

"Why?" Mush said, scared of how nonchalantly this girl said these things.

"Because he's evil. He almost killed my brother then he let him escape. He didn't try to kill me while I was escaping, but I almost froze." Her eyes hardened at the memory of her standing there, in one of her sort of fits, loving how it hurt her.

"Well, why don't ya make yourself comfortable, and" Jack started.

"I already have."

"Okay…."

"Did you know that there's a room behind the wall?"

"No…"

"Now you do."

She finished with the last bed and went straight for the curtains, insistent on hanging them perfectly.

The boys decided to leave the strange girl be for now, wondering just what had happened to her.

"I've finished straightening the place." She said brightly.

As soon as she said that, she slipped into the bunk she'd been sleeping in for a day. "Goodnight Francis, William, James. I shall see you in the morning." With that, she fell asleep.

"So…"Jack said teasingly. "Which one of you is named William?"

"That'd be me, _Francis_." Kid Blink returned in the same tone.

"So Mush is James, huh?"

"Yep." Mush said, detached.

"She is an odd creature." Blink said after a few minutes silence.

"Creature?" Jack asked incredulously.

"Yeah." Blink said with a note of finality.

"What, you wanna call her Creature?"

"Not really." Blink responded sharply.

"We'll ask her in the morning." Mush said, falling into his own bunk. Jack and Blink followed suit, wondering how in the world the nest morning would go. From what they guessed, not well.

In the morning, they heard bell-like yells of, "Wake up!" along with Kloppman's usual calls. The girl was working with Kloppman to get the boys up and ready.

As the girl got to Mush, she was sick of yelling. So she simply pushed him out of his bunk. Mush squealed and the girl laughed.

Most of the boys stopped both to laugh at Mush themselves and to wonder 'Where had they heard that laugh before?'

The girl was finished waking boys up and began to just walk around the room.

"Hey!" Jack called to her. She stopped. "Yes?"

"We was wonderin what you wanted your name to be." Jack said bluntly.

"What my brother called me, of course." She responded without hesitation.

"And what was that?"

"Soul."

"Okay." Jack said, turning to the boys. "This is Soul! She'll be stayin' here for a while!"

The boys murmured their consent and kept getting ready for the day.

Soul looked down at her dress and stockings. They were once white, but were not streaked with dirt, and bits of blood. Her hair was in no better condition, and frankly just annoyed her.

The boys talked amongst themselves as they left her alone.

She used the alone time to push against the wall, making it revolve. On the other side, there was a room. Well, not a room, but a closet. A clothes closet. There were fine suits and frilly dresses, but there were also simpler clothes, newsboy clothes and simple dresses.

Soul smiled, picking up a light blue dress with no frills or stains. There weren't stains or flaws on any of them.

She changed, feeling more human than she ever had with Him. Him. Her _father_. If he could even be called that.

She ripped off her stockings as well, finding no other in the closet, but there were several pairs of male boots. Soul rummaged around for one kind of her size and laced it up.

Now there was only one more problem. She grabbed a knife she'd found on a bedside table and sliced off a yard of hair, leaving it to brush her shoulder and frame her face.

She used the wash tub to get out most of the dirt. Her hair was more lighter now, no longer a medium shade of brown. Closer to Soul than Hazel now, she thought.

Soul winced as she thought of how she received her name. Her brother's was much tamer, light hearted joking caused it, not some sort of demon possessed creature.

A squeaking caught her attention and her eyes widened as she remembered the pocket on the inside of the white dress.

Soul rushed over and brought a small white mouse out of the pocket, holding it against her chest. This mouse was what had kept her sane for one of the six years he brother had been gone. She had been 8. He was 11.

She had him once. Now all she had left was a tiny white mouse named Fear.


	4. Brooklyn's Poker

Later that evening, when the boys returned, they eyed her new outfit and hair oddly, but didn't comment.

"It's poker night!" A short Italian boy shouted with great excitement. _Anthony_ a voice whispered to her.

"What's that, Anthony?" Soul asked curiously.

"It's Racetrack. Who told ya my real name?" He asked with narrowed eyes.

"No one." She said sincerely.

He raised his eyes brows and responded, "It's a card game that ya bet money on. How old are ya?"

"14."

"And you've neva hoid of poker?"

"No."

Racetrack shook his head is disbelief.

Soul giggled.

"Race, Brooklyn isn't getting here for anotha few minutes." Jack said, mock punching Racetrack on the shoulder.

"That don't mean it ain't poker night." He grumbled. Soul giggled again.

In a few minutes, Kloppman called up. "They're here! Don't kill each other."

Indeed about 15 boys filtered into the bunkroom. They seemed to average at 14 or 15 years old, but a few were older, and there was one that couldn't have been older then 7.

As boys started up a bunch of games, the little boy sat at the side. Soul walked up to him. "What's your name?"

"Hope." He whispered.

"And why is that?" Soul asked gently.

"Cause when they found me, I was only 4, and I was so sick I almost died, but I didn't, and they said I was their Hope." He whispered, blushing.

"That's very sweet. My name is Soul." Soul told him quietly.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure." Soul lied.

"Oh." Hope whispered.

"Why did you come along?" Soul asked him.

"They said I could. They made the others that was under 13 stay, and Racket's watchin' them."

"Why don't you have the same accent?" Soul wondered aloud. Hope didn't have the same New York accent.

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. They said I was special. But you talk extra funny, Lady."

Soul laughed. "It's Soul."

She saw one of the boys playing the game stiffen and look at her. His eyes were a mixture of blue and steely gray, and his hair was a blonde-brown. He was probably 16 or 17.

Soul put the pieces together, met his gaze and said quietly, "Phillip."

The boy's eyes widened and softened at the same time. "Caroline."

Soul's face broke into a grin and she stood up, "Same Spot."

The boy did the same. "Soul Eater."

By now, they'd attracted some attention. The group he'd been playing with, Racetrack, Jack, Blink, and a few she didn't know, were all watching them.

"Spot." Soul said, tears welling up in her eyes.

She ran over to him and hugged with all her might. "I thought I'd never see you again." She said, her voice thick.

"I'm sorry." Spot whispered, hugging her back gently. Finally, tear began to sprint down Soul's face at an alarming rate.

"I missed you so much." Soul sobbed out. "When you left…."

"I know," Spot whispered, smoothing her hair. "I know…."

Soul pulled away from the embrace and looked up at him. "You got taller."

Spot laughed. "That can happen in 6 yea's."

"I got taller too."

Spot laughed again. "I see dat."

Soul looked at him, confused this time. "Your accent's different."

"I'm a Brooklyn leader now, it wasn't about to stay the way it was."

"I guess not…."

Someone cleared their throat, and Jack spoke. "So, what's going on hea?"

Spot and Soul glanced at one another, then looked at Jack.

"Me an' Soul hea," Spot began.

"We're brother and sister." Soul finished for him. The newsies looked at the siblings in shock.

Soul hugged Spot again, and said "Goodnight everyone."

"It's 7:30." Someone said.

"Yes." Soul said, heading into her bunk.

Spot just smiled now.

He didn't play any more poker that night. He just thought about Soul.

The Manhattan newsies let the Brooklynites bunk for the night, which they gratefully accepted. Soon, all the newsies, Brooklyn and Manhattan, fell asleep.

They all awoke to screaming. High-pitched screaming; it was a single soprano note.

Along with the screaming were noises of clattering and destruction.

The screams clashed with sobs and noises of pain, flesh against anything it could find.

There was one whisper from a certain Brooklyn leader, the only one in the room who knew what was going on. "No."

They all saw Soul punching the walls, the windows. She rammed herself against the bunk beds, bruising and bloodying herself.

"No, no, no." Spot said, a little louder this time. Then he whispered. "I hate having to do this….."

Suddenly, Spot didn't sound like Spot. His voice held the same edge his leader voice did, but his accent was the same as Soul's, and he sounded more menacing than he ever had.

"Hazel!"

Soul stopped.

"Hazel! You shall not do this!" 

Soul sat on the ground, cross-legged. She began to cry.

Spot dropped the act and ran over to her. Soul hugged him, her blood staining his clothes. "It's okay." Spot said gently. "It's fine."

"No it's not!" Soul screamed. "I told myself I wouldn't do that anymore!"

"You can't control it."

"It's your fault!" Soul yelled at him. "You left!"

"I know."

"Why did you leave me? I trusted you!"

"I had to."

"No you didn't." Soul was calming down. She jumped up and the other newsies assumed battle stance.

"Aw, lay off. She's fine." Spot called. No one relaxed. Soul walked over to her bunk and reached under her pillow. She withdrew a single white mouse. She held the mouse close to her, crying silently.

"Is that from…?" Spot started, but Soul cut him off with a nod. Spot nodded back. "Then maybe you shouldn't have it."

"I love her. She's the only one I haven't killed." Soul stated quietly. Then, still holding the mouse, without cleaning or bandaging herself, Soul laid on her bunk and fell asleep.

The other newsies realized two things. The first was that it was about 2 in the morning. The second was that there was a lot of damage. A shattered window, dented walls, blood on the bunk supports. It looked like there had been major fist fights and a gun involved.

They silently cleaned the blood from the walls and beds. They hung an extra blanket in front of the broken window. They were hopeless at the dented walls. Those would just have to stay.

The newsies finally went to sleep, wondering what to do about their new room-mate.


	5. Wandering

The next morning was not so happy.

Spot was all but throwing things across the room out of frustration, and Jack was faring no better.

Kloppman decided he'd have to wait to replace the window, wait until they had enough money. This could take a while. A long while.

Soul did not stir from her sleep all morning. She was still covered in blood and scrapes. Yet she didn't move even an inch all night. Like it was a learned habit.

When she did wake up, the boys had already gone out to sell their papers. Soul did not feel the pain of the scratches or blood. She didn't feel anything. It was as though she had gone numb. However, this was not new. She was always like this after a fit.

Really, Soul felt fine. So she got up, cleaned herself off, changed clothes, and walked outside. She wasn't sure where she was going.

When Soul reached the Brooklyn Bridge, she didn't think. She just crossed. The view was stellar. Soul smiled, and began to think of Phillip.

When she was only 8 she had been left alone. Now, 6 years later, she wasn't alone anymore. Phillip had both ruined her and fixed her before; he would continue to do it now. She remembered why she called him Same Spot. He would always pace, turning at the same spots every time. One day she told him 'If you keep doing that, you'll dig your way down and be stuck in that same spot forever.' He laughed a little, and Soul began calling him Same Spot, later shortened to Spot. Soul had been only 4, Spot 7.

She began to skip, humming a low tune. She often strung notes together for her own amusement.

Soul ended up on the docks, with her feet hanging off the edge, swinging with the breeze. The water looked inviting, even though she knew how it was cold. After all, a few boys were still swimming in it.

She heard whispering, and then footsteps. Soul looked up to see Spot looking down at her. She smiled at him, but he did not return it. Instead, he looked disapproving.

"What was you thinkin?" He asked angrily. Soul cocked her head, confused. She hadn't been thinking. Really, she just meandered over here.

"It's not safe in Brooklyn!" Spot clarified, crossing his arms, waiting.

"You live in Brooklyn." Soul pointed out.

"That don't mean it's safe!" Spot exclaimed in frustration.

"Okay." Soul said nonchalantly, turning back to the water. Spot sat down next to her now with a sigh.

"I don't want ya getting hoit," He said to her. "Some take vantage over goils."

"Should I go back to Manhattan, then?"

"Probably. Watch yourself there too." Spot warned her.

"I'll try to control my fits." Soul said, beginning to feel her patience stretch.

"That's not what I meant."

"I'll do it anyway."

"Okay. I'll have someone take you back to Hattan." Spot said turning to get someone. Soul sighed. It didn't surprise her that he didn't want to spend time with her. Who would? She was an emotional wreck; an insane freak.

She skimmed her fingers along the water, watching it ripple. She wished she had rocks to skip; she was rather good at it. Finally, a tall boy about her age walked up, reaching his hand towards her.

Soul ignored his hand and stood up, smoothing the pale green fabric of her dress. She started walking back the way she came, being followed by the boy the whole way.

"My name is Soul. You can leave me be, Scott." She heard the footstep stopped and she turned. "Is that not your name?"

"That's not what most people call me." He said, with a surprising lack of a New York accent.

"What do they call you, Scott?"

"Seaweed, or Sea. Because I'm stuck to the bottom of it half the time." Soul noticed now that his hair was dripping, and he looked cleaner than the others. He also had a big grin, his teeth flashing.

Soul smiled back.

"Come on, if you're not back to Hattan soon, Spot's gonna skin me alive."

They laughed together more, knowing this wasn't entirely an exaggeration. Smiling, they walked back to the place Soul called home, having no idea what was going on.

**There it is. Slightly filler-ish with a nice cliffhanger. Hope you enjoyed. Thanks to my reviewers and those who encourage me.**

**FLying out.**


End file.
